The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love

by Beth Pattillo

  They had almost made it to the food line when Rev. Carson intercepted them, James Delevan in tow. Maria went to grab Annabeth’s sleeve, but her friend slipped away.

  “I think Mr. Hale’s waving me over,” Annabeth said as she disappeared. Maria groaned in frustration, then squared her shoulders.

  “Good evening, Maria. Glad to see you.” Rev. Carson patted her shoulder. “James, may I introduce you to Maria Munden? Her family owns the five-and-dime on the square.”

  “Miss Munden.” He nodded, almost deep enough to be a slight bow, as arrogant now as he’d been when he came into the store. He made no mention of their previous meeting, however, and she determined not to do so either.

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Rev. Carson said, his attention caught by something on the other side of the fellowship hall.

  He stepped away from them, and Maria fought back a sudden wave of panic. She was no naive girl overawed by a wealthy stranger from out of town, she reminded herself sternly. Over the years she had learned how to deal with all kinds of people. There was no reason she couldn’t deal with James Delevan.

  “How are you enjoying your time in Sweetgum?” She fixed a polite, if somewhat disinterested, expression on her face and waited for his answer.

  “It’s been pleasant.”

  Pleasant? Who in the world talked like that anymore? He was so stiff he might as well have gone straight to the funeral home instead of stopping at the church dinner.

  A flush of shame hit her as she realized what she’d been thinking and how disrespectful it was, not only to her father but also to Nancy St. Clair and Frank Jackson.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. “We don’t normally have many visitors at these potlucks.”

  “Evan and I met Rev. Carson in town today. He invited us.”

  “Will you be in Sweetgum much longer?” she asked him, and then she realized her question might be taken two ways. “I mean—”

  “We’ll be here at least another week.”

  Why? Maria wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. Secrecy had been a condition of the sale. She could only hope that nothing had happened to thwart their plans or derail their purchase of the Munden farm.

  “And your lady friend?”

  “Evan’s sister. She’s going back to Memphis in the morning.”

  There was a lengthy silence while she waited for him to introduce another topic of conversation, but he merely stared around the room. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t simply introduced himself that first day at the store. Surely he had connected Munden’s Five-and-Dime with the purchase of the Munden farm.

  “Where are you staying while you’re here?” she finally asked.

  He arched an eyebrow at her, as if to suggest she was prying. “At the bed-and-breakfast on the edge of town. Sugar Mill, I think it’s called.”

  “Sugar Hill.” She couldn’t resist correcting him. “A lovely place.”

  “It’s fine.” But she could hear the implied criticism.

  “It’s not a five-star hotel.”

  “Definitely not.”

  Maria took a deep breath, sucked in her cheeks, and contemplated biting her tongue. The man was colossally arrogant. Honestly, it was a wonder there was room for anyone else in the fellowship hall given the size of his ego.

  She nodded toward the buffet. “You should help yourself before all the good stuff is gone.” Her polite suggestion was the nicest way she knew to get rid of him.

  From his superior height, he looked at the long tables pulled end to end and covered with casserole dishes, bowls, and platters. “There’s enough cholesterol here to—”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said in her blandest tone. “Excuse me, but I think my mother needs me.” With a short nod-as close a concession to good manners as she could make at the moment—she melted away, leaving Mr. James Delevan to contemplate the deficiencies of a church covered-dish supper. And herself to wonder why an arrogant stranger should bother her quite so much.

  Later, after everyone had eaten and Rev. Carson had given a short devotional, Maria stood behind one of the large round posts that dotted the fellowship hall at regular intervals. The posts, however awkwardly placed, served the utilitarian purpose of holding up the second and third floors of the education wing. Almost two feet in diameter, they were large enough to conceal a grown woman. She was hiding from Henry Hale, the organist, who looked determined to ask her out yet again. She’d been avoiding his attentions for the better part often years, but Henry was not easily discouraged. The fact that he lived with his mother and wasn’t in any hurry to move out gave him the leisure to be persistent.

  “Come on, James. Surely you can find someone here to talk to.” The voice came from the other side of the pole. She recognized it as belonging to James Delevan’s friend, Evan. Maria froze. She looked around for means of escape, but if she moved now, the two men would surely see her.

  “I think you have found—and monopolized—the only decent conversationalist in the room,” James replied. His friend had been talking to Daphne whenever Maria happened to look their way. She couldn’t see James Delevan’s expression, but she heard the censure in his tone.

  “James, someday your arrogance is going to backfire on you.”

  “I’m not arrogant.”

  His friend chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you get caught in your own net.”

  “Well, it’s not likely to happen in a sleepy backwater like this.”

  “What about Daphne’s sister? She’s nice. Seems intelligent.”

  “A little old for me. I’d rather spend the rest of the evening in my room at that excuse for a bed-and-breakfast doing Sudoku. Or watching reality television.”

  Maria felt the flush of embarrassment rise from her midsection until it suffused her throat and then her face. A little old. Well, that was what she got for eavesdropping. What had she expected him to say? That he’d been fascinated by her?

  Maria did not have a false sense of pride. She had long ago accepted that her looks were average and her possibilities for marriage nonexistent, Henry Hale excepted. But she hadn’t expected others, particularly strangers, to discuss those facts quite so openly And certainly not at a covered dish supper.

  She turned to walk away before either of the two men became aware of her presence, but as she did, she bumped into Annabeth, whose eyes were dancing with laughter. Maria suppressed a groan. She hadn’t been the only one to overhear the conversation.

  Annabeth grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the pole, back toward the table where they’d eaten. She pushed Maria into a chair and flopped down beside her.

  “Well, I never,” she said between giggles. “Of all the nerve…”

  Maria felt hard-pressed to figure out what Annabeth found so funny about the conversation. But after a moment, her sense of humor got the best of her, and she felt the corners of her mouth curve upward into a smile.

  “My mother always told me not to listen at keyholes.” She thought of the old-fashioned doors in the family home and how she had spent a good deal of time as a child with her ear pressed to the openings. That warm remembrance, though, brought with it a dash of icy reality. Soon that home would no longer be hers.

  “Well, you certainly don’t have to worry about acquiring an unwanted admirer,” Annabeth teased. “Mr. Delevan is dead set against you, Maria.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Someone loomed at her elbow, and with a start Maria looked up to see the very man they were discussing.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked in his stiffly formal manner.

  “Actually we were just about to go help clean up,” Maria said, leaping to her feet and dragging Annabeth with her. “But feel free to sit here.”

  Annabeth cast her an admonishing look, but Maria refused to acknowledge it. Yes, she was being rude, but James Delevan didn’t deserve to receive any better than he dished out.

  �
��Of course. I’m sure you’re needed.”

  She thought she saw discomfort in his dark eyes but decided she was imagining things. He would be relieved to have her disappear into the kitchen. A little old for me. She wouldn’t want to contaminate him with her ancientness. Which probably wasn’t even a word, but Maria didn’t care. She yanked Annabeth’s arm and headed for the kitchen at breakneck speed.

  Bad enough that the man was helping Evan Baxter take away the farm she’d loved so much. She wouldn’t allow him to take her dignity too.

  Esther entered her bedroom that evening and slipped off her shoes. Her feet ached from spending the day in three-inch heels, but she’d had little choice. Church in the morning. A tea for the garden club at Maisie Shifley’s in the afternoon. She’d had to retrieve the dog from the animal hospital, since his wounds were finally healed enough for them to release him. Then the covered dish supper at the church. And when she’d finally arrived home, she’d found that the dog had dug up every one of her azalea beds. Her first instinct had been to find a rolled-up newspaper and discipline the beast, but when she looked at him and saw the bare places where the vet had shaved him so his wounds could be treated, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she fed him his dinner and then left him to his own devices in the kitchen after securely latching the baby gate that would keep him in that room for the night.

  She really ought to read for the next Knit Lit Society meeting. Never a fan of Shakespeare, she’d procrastinated since their meeting the week before. Of course, she could just choose not to read Romeo and Juliet and be done with it, but she’d made a vow to herself to try to do better this year, at least when it came to the reading assignments. The knitting, well…

  She carefully hung her silk suit on a padded hanger and stowed her pumps in their appropriate cubby. Her nightgown and robe were in the lingerie drawer, neatly folded and waiting for her. Her bedtime routine—removing her makeup, washing her face, and slathering on regenerating cream—took less than ten minutes since she had it down to a science.

  She settled into bed, adjusting the pile of pillows behind her, and reached for the book on her nightstand.

  Romeo and Juliet. She’d read it in high school and remembered thinking it was awfully dramatic. To Esther, romantic love was not only overrated but something to be avoided. Marriage was—and always had been for her—about forming the right alliance. Building a life together. Working as a team. Not this nonsense about dying of love for someone.

  Esther picked up the book, thumbed past the overview and the introduction, and proceeded straight to act 1, scene 1, where the servants of the Capulets and Montagues were insulting one another. Romeo had just entered when she heard the phone ring.

  Esther looked around. Usually she kept the portable handset nearby, but it wasn’t on the bed or the nightstand.

  “Where is that thing?” She climbed out of bed and went in search of the receiver, found it, and then paused when she didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID. Wireless Caller, the display said.

  She pressed the button to answer. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Jackson?” The deep male voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  “Yes.”

  The caller cleared his throat. “This is Brody McCullough. We met week before last out on the lake road. I helped you with the dog. The vet’s office gave me your name and number.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember.” For no discernible reason, she felt her heartbeat accelerate. “What can I do for you?”

  “How’s the dog doing? Was Doc Everton able to help him?”

  “Yes, yes. He’s going to be fine. His hip was displaced, but the vet took care of that.”

  “Is the dog still at the animal hospital?”

  “Actually, no. He’s here with me.”

  There was a long pause. “With you?”

  Esther bristled at the hint of disbelief in the man’s tone. “I can assure you, Mr.—I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

  “Brody McCullough.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. McCullough, that the dog is in good hands.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” But her tone let him know that she knew exactly what he’d meant. “Is there anything else, Mr. McCullough?”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. You just didn’t seem to be a dog kind of person, and if he was still at Doc Everton’s, I was going to offer to take him off their hands.”

  “You want the dog?”

  “Want? No. But I’ve got room enough at my place, and I thought I’d at least offer until I could find him a good home.”

  That took a bit of the wind out of her sails. “Oh. Well, it was nice of you to follow up.” She paused, unsure what else to say.

  “The thing is…” His voice trailed off

  “Yes?”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Jackson, but are you sure you want to deal with that dog?”

  Anger sparked in her chest. “Mr. McCullough, are you implying that I would neglect or hurt that animal? As I recall, I’m the one who rescued him.”

  “You were also the one who hit him.”

  “Well, I never—”

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

  “No. It didn’t.” She clamped her mouth shut and bit back the words that wanted to spew forth. Esther refused to admit that perhaps a bit of the sting came from her own conscience. She didn’t really want the dog, had only agreed to bring it home so that she wouldn’t look heartless in the eyes of Dr. Everton and his assistants. But now, after Mr. McCullough’s comments…

  Did she really appear so unfeeling to the world?

  The thought hit her hard, extinguishing the little flames of anger. The veterinarian had only reluctantly turned the dog over to her. And now a complete stranger was questioning her fitness to care for the animal.

  “Mrs. Jackson—”

  “Please call me Esther.” While the words invited informality, her chilly tone did not.

  The man sighed. “I’ve offended you, and I apologize. I shouldn’t have judged you—”

  “But you did.” She didn’t want to continue this conversation. “I can assure you that the dog is safe. Good night, Mr. McCullough.” She moved her finger to the Off button.

  “Wait—”

  Something in his tone kept her from disconnecting the call. “Yes?”

  “I’m not usually such a cretin.”

  “Cretin?” An impressive vocabulary for a farmer, she thought, and then cringed when she realized how snobbish the thought was.

  “I owe you an apology. More than an apology.” Brody McCullough paused. “I don’t expect you’ll agree to this, but I’d like to buy you dinner to make up for my insult.”

  Esther swallowed back the sharp retort that rose to her lips. Men’s minds were so difficult to understand. Why would he think that spending more time in his company would make her feel better about his misjudgment of her?

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But—”

  “Good night, Mr. McCullough.”

  There was another pause. “Good night, Mrs. Jackson. Again, I apologize.”

  She didn’t answer. Just hit the Off button and stared at the receiver.

  What a strange conversation. She picked up the book again and tried to concentrate.

  Juliet was an idiot, Esther decided. No man was worth giving up everything for, especially not one’s life. Love was an illusion. If Juliet had ever made it past the age of fourteen, she would have figured that out.

  Much later, Esther laid aside the book and reached over to turn off the lamp but hesitated before turning the switch. Since Frank’s death, she’d slept with the light on, which was absurd since they hadn’t shared a bedroom in years. He’d involuntarily taken up residence in the guest room when his snoring became too much of a disturbance.

  Tonight, though, she was determined to return to her normal way of doing thin
gs. Despite Franks absence. Despite the ache of loneliness that pooled in her stomach. And despite the muffled whines and yelps she could hear from the kitchen downstairs. The dog would learn to sleep alone, just as she had. It was simply a matter of forming the habit.

  Esther shut off the light with a snap of her wrist.

  She fluffed the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The darkness wasn’t absolute. Moonlight came in through the windows where she’d forgotten to draw the curtains.

  No, the darkness wasn’t absolute, but it was oppressive. Her chest tightened, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating.

  With a cry, she threw back the covers and bolted out of the bed. The fool dog needed her, she told herself as she jammed her feet into her slippers and hurried down the stairs. That’s all it was—anxiety about the animal. After all, the poor thing was helpless, alone, and had nowhere to go.

  Just like her.

  No, no. She couldn’t think like that.

  She flipped light switches as she passed, bathing the house in a warm glow. The dog must have heard her coming, because he stopped whining. At the entrance to the kitchen, where she’d put up the baby gate, she stopped and reached inside the doorway to turn on the light.

  The dog waited just on the other side of the gate, his nose pressed to the plastic mesh. He whined low in his throat and let out two short, sharp barks. Esther stared down at him, torn between resentment and compassion. If she gave in this time… Well, she’d learned that lesson long ago with Frank. And with her son, Alex. Once you gave in to a male, he never stopped pushing. Other people thought she was too rigid, but she wasn’t. She was realistic. People went as far as you let them, so if they hurt you, you had no one to blame but yourself

  “You can’t come upstairs,” she said to the dog. “You might as well accept it.”